


Mountain Rescue

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst, Cabin Fic, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Mates, Misunderstandings, Naked Cuddling, POV Derek Hale, Rescue Missions, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Stiles goes to visit a shaman up North and doesn't come back.And also, Derek impulsively kissed him before he left, only to get pushed awayTypical.





	Mountain Rescue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rieraclaelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/gifts).



> This is written for Jessie who is nothing less than a saint for listening to me rant on and on about how hard it was to write. I have no idea why, it just was. Jessie, I love and adore you, and you deserve better. <3
> 
> The fic is somewhat betaed, and I owe great thanks to several people in my sterek chat room for offering ideas and feedback. You all rock. <3
> 
> Other stuff about this fic: Derek's monster wolf form is less like Peter's in canon, and a lot more like the werewolves in Van Helsing. Look them up, they're shiny. 
> 
> California, as it turns out, has mountains and the possibility of lethal snow storms all year round, though if someone out there tells me there's no way Stiles can make it from the South to the North in the timeline I've outlined, I'll be more than happy to take your word for it, but I probably won't change it, because if I have to look at this fic for another second I will rip my last hair out. 
> 
> So. Accuracy not to be expected. Okay? Okay. 

It's blisteringly cold, and Derek's breath feels like razor blades in his throat as he races up the icy mountain path. He's not gonna make it, he can feel it. Even shifted into beta form he's just too slow, and snow is steadily covering the trail, Stiles' scent going more and more faint. There's no telling how much further he might have to run, or if Stiles is even still... alive.

 

But Derek has to try. He has to.

 

” _This is... a really bad idea, Derek. We're not... this,” Stiles said, gesturing between them before reaching up to wipe his glistening bottom lip with a thumb._

 

_Derek just watched, aching with the knowledge that he'd tasted that lip only seconds before, and knowing he wouldn't be allowed again. Stiles had pulled away. Nothing else needed to be said, really. But this was Stiles, so there were always more words._

 

” _I need to think,” Stiles said, capturing Derek's gaze, eyes heavy with meaning Derek couldn't quite parse. ”Don't go too far into your head, Derek. I need to think about things, but I'm not... I'm not closing the door completely, okay? When I get back, we'll talk.”_

 

But he didn't come back.

 

Derek legs are screaming, and he has to stop for a second, or his knees will collapse under him. There is nothing but snow-covered pine trees for miles around, the rental car having given up the ghost over an hour ago, and apart from the scent slowly being smothered by icy blankness, there's nothing for Derek to follow. No sound, no hint of color in the whiteness, nothing.

 

He snarls with frustration, feeling his animal soul clawing at the human walls of his mind from the sheer terror of losing Stiles, and without stopping to think about it, he lets it out for the first time. His clothes rip painfully as his body changes, the massive, barely wolf-like hulk of pure anger and fear bursting forth, pushing his sensible human thinking deep down. There's no use for it now anyway. If his mate is dead, then Derek's life wont matter in any case.

 

” _I never even told him,”_ is the last coherent thought before the wolf takes over, fabric tatters raining onto the snow.

 

Everything is so much crisper and sharper in this form, and the barely-there scent trail is suddenly hammering against his senses, so he tears off, snow exploding from the path as he powers through. There's nothing but the drive to get to his mate. He doesn't feel the cold or the strain on his muscles, and the trees rush past so swiftly they're a blur. For miles and miles, up, up, up, he claws his way along the mountain trail, the smell of gasoline and magic scratching at his nose more and more the further up he goes. His mate didn't come willingly.

 

He lets out an anguished roar, echoing off the cliff sides, and several small avalanches tumble down around him. But he's beyond thinking about that now.

 

It's getting dark by the time he hears it. The faint rumble of engines. His eyes cloud with red, everything getting a bloody tint, and he senses nothing else until his teeth sink into warm, blood-spraying flesh. There are several loud snaps of bullets firing, but it's chaos of panicked screaming and the sudden, shocking explosion of a gas tank, and Derek doesn't even feel his fur singeing, or the bullets clipping him. It's only when the last, sour-smelling hunter drops dead with a wet gurgle that Derek finds the presence of mind to look around, terror clogging his throat until he hears a slow and faint heartbeat.

 

There's a small, stretcher-like trailer hitched to one of the snowmobiles, and Derek rushes to it, peeling back the tarp covering it with shaking hands until he can finally see Stiles' face and confirm that he's alive. Unconscious, but alive.

 

It's hard to tell over the stench of blood, gasoline, smoke and wolfsbane, but he seems unharmed. Except, when Derek reaches in with blood-stained, clawed fingers to touch Stiles' cheek he's distressingly cold.

 

Thinking logically in this shape is difficult, but Derek realizes that his mate needs him to focus, so he forces himself to step back and take stock. Three snowmobiles. One exploded, probably from an errant bullet. The other two squashed beyond repair from Derek's massive form landing on them in his rage. There's nothing around them that isn't either soaked in blood or gasoline, there's no cover, darkness is falling, and the wind is picking up.

 

Even if Derek had survivalist skills fit for a night on a snowy mountain, far from civilization, he's in no shape to employ them now. His claws are like daggers, excellent for ripping out throats, but no good for so much as a zipper. He could maybe dig a burrow in the snow, but he has no idea if such a structure would be sound, never mind that his instincts are screaming for the safety of walls between his mate and danger.

 

” _Think,_ _ **think**_ _,”_ he urges himself silently, and covers Stiles' face with the tarp again to protect him from the wind.

 

The hunters didn't seem to be following any kind of recognizable path, but they were heading _somewhere_ , and traveling through the night would be suicide so it has to be close. He sticks his nose in the air, taking in every nuance, pushing the overwhelming main impressions out of the way to get to what's underneath. Several small animals move nearby, uncaring of the cold, perfectly suited for the environment. Boulders fall far off to his left. There's a small squeal somewhere further up. Squeal of metal on metal, in time with the gusts of wind.

 

 _There_.

 

He zeroes in on the sound, waiting only long enough to slice through the straps on the stretcher and hoist Stiles carefully into his arms before moving towards it. This shape was not meant to move well on two feet, so it's slow going. But the faint squeals get clearer the further they go, and by the time night has fallen completely, stars peeking through the snowy clouds above, Derek finally emerges from the trees to find a cabin, a crooked weather-vane on its roof swaying in the wind.

 

The cabin is tiny, definitely not meant for more than temporary shelter, but it has four walls and a door that closes, and that's all Derek needs. He can barely fit through the doorway, his shoulders so massive he has to ease in sideways, but once he's in he can stand almost entirely upright, only the tips of his ears brushing the ceiling. There's next to nothing inside. A wooden bench with a pair of broken snow shoes on it, a chair with one leg replaced by what looks like an old ski, and a couch-like piece of furniture that might be a futon of some kind, quite possibly home-made. Derek places Stiles gently on it, and takes a better look around. There's a small wood-burning stove in the corner, and a quick look outside reveals a pretty decent stack of firewood. He brings inside as much as he can carry, and shuts the door behind him.

 

There's no lock, but he's pretty confident that the nearest creature with opposible thumbs is a few dozen miles away at least, so he lets it be. A small hatch in the floor reveals a dirt-walled hole filled with the treasure of several scratchy blankets, a couple of pots useful for melting snow for water, as well as several boxes of matches. No food of any kind, though, but Derek isn't too worried about that. He's a wolf, he'll hunt for his mate.

 

His massive hands and claws are simply no good for delicate handling of anything, however, and after several unsuccessful tries at lighting a fire, he realizes he'll have to shift back to make it work. Even in this form he's aware that if he shifts now that the crisis has passed, he probably won't be able to shift back again. He'll be naked and infinitely more vulnerable, possibly unable to protect Stiles. So he decides against the fire, choosing instead to wrap Stiles up in all the blankets and hope for the best.

 

But once the tarp and sleeping bag Stiles is wrapped in is removed it becomes clear that he's far too cold. His pulse is disturbingly slow, and his lips are tinted blue. Derek whines in distress, torn on what to do, before finally deciding that pop culture can't be entirely wrong, and quickly stripping Stiles naked. There's only barely room for them both on the couch-thing, the structure creaking ominously under Derek's bulk. But it holds, and he wraps the blankets and sleeping bag and tarp around them both as well as he can, rumbling with satisfaction when Stiles' skin immediately feels warmer.

 

The wind whistles outside, and the cabin is pitch black, but in their small cocoon it's at least warm enough to avoid frostbite, Derek's body being more or less self-sustaining in his shape and offering the heat and shelter that Stiles needs. He remains unconscious, though, heart slow but steady, and Derek can still smell the magic on him, so it's not natural, whatever it is. But Derek has no way of knowing what kind of spell was used, and even if he did he wouldn't know how to reverse it. So he settles down to wait as the wind picks up and the snow falls harder outside.

 

A few hours later Stiles jerks awake, which makes Derek snarl from surprise before he can stop himself, and Stiles yelps and tries to scramble away from him in shock.

 

“ _Woah_ , what the _fuck_ , what are you- why am I- _oh my fucking god!_ ”

 

Derek rumbles soothingly, instinctively trying to calm his mate, but it's not until he flashes his eyes red and slowly rubs Stiles' shoulder that he finally stops flailing around, fruitlessly trying to find a way out of the blanket maze.

 

“What the... _Derek?!_ ”

 

Pleased at being recognized, Derek gives in to the urge to go in for a quick nuzzle against Stiles' cheek, careful of the huge teeth, and also keeping it brief, because Stiles' heart still sounds like it's about to pound right out of his chest.

 

“How are you- what are you- when did-” Stiles flails again in obvious frustration at the hundreds of questions no doubt bursting forth, and Derek pets him again. Stiles stares open-mouthed at the huge hand stroking his bare skin, claws curled in carefully to not hurt him. “Holy shit, Derek,” he says, finally managing something like a full sentence. “I thought you were Peter for a second there.”

 

Derek snorts. He's nothing like his uncle. Peter was a monstrous beast, greed and hunger personified. Derek just responded to the age-old urge to protect his mate, which is perfectly natural, thank you very much. And he would explain the matter if his vocal chords weren't currently unsuited for human speech.

 

It's dim in the cabin, the only light coming from the two tiny windows, letting the moonlight reflect off the snow outside, now that the snowing has stopped and it's less cloudy. Derek can see fine, but Stiles obviously has to strain his eyes, tilting his head this way and that to best utilize the faint light as he takes a closer look at Derek. “Wow. This is... pretty cool, actually,” he murmurs, reaching up to touch the fur on Derek's muzzle, fingers trailing around without fear. Stiles pets the fur, touches the cold wetness of the nose, traces the massive canines poking out from under the lip, even with the mouth closed, and Derek obligingly opens up to let his mate investigate further.

 

“Ugh, doggy breath,” Stiles says with a grimace, and Derek would be offended, but considering the last thing he chomped down on was human flesh he probably deserves it. It doesn't stop Stiles' curiosity, though, and he trails his fingers along all of Derek's teeth before taking his hand back and instead turning Derek's head for a side-view. “Dude, your ears are adorable for, you know, a huge rage-monster.” That makes Derek roll his eyes, and Stiles grins at him. “Well, your human ears are adorable too, so I guess it makes sense.”

 

Derek snaps his teeth playfully, and savors the surprised laugh Stiles lets out. He seems much better, heartbeat steady, if a little fast, and his lips are no longer blue. But he still gives a little shiver now and then, and Derek pulls him in closer, tucking the blankets around them again. Stiles stiffens against him for a second, but then he melts into it, hiding his face in Derek's chest. “Aaand I kinda realized just now that I'm naked,” he says, slightly muffled against the fur. “And it's really fucking cold. Where the hell are we?”

 

Seeing as he has no clue, and also can't really reply, Derek just shrugs.

 

“Okay, good point. If I found my pants in here somewhere, would my phone still be in them?”

 

All pockets had felt empty when Derek undressed him, so he shakes his head, and Stiles sighs. “Of course not. And wherever the hell this is, we probably wouldn't have any kind of signal anyway.” He shivers again, and Derek tries to curl around him more, but Stiles squirms until he can catch Derek's eye again. “Look, I get what you're trying to do, here, but can I please put on my boxers, at least?”

 

Derek isn't happy about letting Stiles go too far, but he does open his arms and lets Stiles untangle the blankets.

 

“Oh jesus, okay, no,” Stiles hisses the second cold air hits his body. “No, not happening, holy shit. Naked it is,” he says around a shudder, and burrows into Derek's chest again. “Dignity can wait, oh my fucking god. How cold _is_ it?”

 

There's no way to know, but even Derek feels the sting of frost through his fur, and their breaths mingle in a dense cloud above their heads.

 

“I'm kinda afraid to fall asleep now,” Stiles admits in a small voice, and Derek rubs his back with gentle knuckles, rumble-purring at him in an attempt to be comforting. “But... I guess with you here I'm not about to freeze to death in the night. Would you notice if my heart stopped?” he asks, and Derek can't help but growl at the mere idea of Stiles dying.

 

“Okay, jeez, not doubting your wolfy skill here,” Stiles assures, and sort of rubs his cheek against Derek's chest. It could be just a matter of getting comfortable, but Derek selfishly chooses to think of it as a placating gesture. “So that's a yes?”

 

Derek nods, and that's enough, apparently, because Stiles sighs and slots himself against Derek more comfortably, arms winding around his broad chest. “Okay, good. I think I'll try and sleep, then.”

 

Being out cold by magical means obviously doesn't count as any kind of rest, because it's only a matter of minutes before Stiles drops off to sleep again, his heartbeat a solid rhythm in Derek's ears as he guards him through the night.

 

Several hours later the sun rises, and even though it's still very cold it does get noticeably less so as the sunlight slowly warms the side of the cabin. Derek yawns, exhausted after the events of the day before, and eventually he falls into a doze, feeling incredibly content, knowing his mate is safe and secure in his arms.

 

“Uhm. Derek?”

 

Derek blinks awake to Stiles' face, which is looking distinctly awkward. “Uh. Hi,” Derek says, and then realizes that he's shifted in his sleep, which means they're now both very naked and entangled under the blankets, which is no doubt the reason for Stiles' face of discomfort. Being human again also comes with a clarity of mind that his instinct-driven wolf-shape hadn't offered, and Derek feels extremely embarrassed about the whole thing.

 

“Your breath is really terrible, dude,” is the first thing Stiles says, and Derek can only nod.

 

“Yeah. I kinda ripped someone's throat out.”

 

Stiles blinks. “With your- okay then,” he says a little weakly, eyes wide. “Who, uh-”

 

“Hunters. They must have grabbed you on your way back. Not sure what they wanted with you. But you forgot your bag, and Delilah got worried when you didn't pick up the phone.” Derek pauses, and searches his face. “Are you... okay? I mean. Waking up in a different place...” He doesn't know how to continue, and he doesn't really have to. Stiles knows what he's asking, but luckily seems calm enough.

 

“Yeah, I mean. Waking up and thinking I saw Peter was a shocker. But once I knew it was you... I dunno. I felt safe, I guess.” He avoids Derek's gaze and clears his throat. “Anyway. How long was I even out? I mean, you're here, and Beacon Hills is hundreds of miles away.”

 

Derek clears his throat awkwardly. “I was... coming to meet you. Kinda felt we needed to talk.”

 

“Well, yeah. But I was coming back,” Stiles says slowly. “I told you I was.”

 

“I know. I just... got this bad feeling.” Derek isn't sure he should tell Stiles about how exactly he could feel that something bad was gonna happen to Stiles, because that would mean opening up the big fat can of worms labeled _mates_ that Stiles never agreed to be involved in. It's Derek's stupid feelings and instincts on the line here, and as useful as it is as a life-saving measure, he doesn't want to risk Stiles feeling like he owes it to Derek to accept him or anything. The bond would never take like that anyway, but still.

 

There's just one problem. Stiles is smarter than anyone else Derek has ever known.

 

“I'm gonna take a stab in the dark, here,” Stiles says, his expressive face looking carefully blank. “You got this pain in your chest.”

 

Derek nods miserably, because there's no way this isn't going where Derek had hoped it wouldn't.

 

“And it got worse when you thought about me.”

 

Nodding again, Derek doesn't feel the need to tell Stiles that he always thinks of him in one way or another these days, and that the only way to make the pain dim was to forcefully think of something else. Not that it worked for long.

 

“And then, when you thought I was dying, or that you lost me or something... you went all monster wolf.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you've never done that before, right?”

 

“Right.

 

“Do I even need to go on?” He sounds angry, and Derek can't blame him.

 

“I'm sorry. I _was_ going to try and tell you. When you got back. I fucked up, I shouldn't have... kissed you. I'm sorry,” he says again, almost wishing he was anywhere else but here, naked in Stiles' arms under the blankets. But only almost.

 

“The kissing- that is so totally not the issue, Derek! You should have told me!”

 

Derek nods miserably. “Yes. I should have. And I understand if you'd prefer we never speak of it again.”

 

“I swear to god, Derek,” Stiles hisses. “If my arm wasn't gonna freeze off, I would reach up and smack you on the back of the head! Not _speak_ of it?! Dude, have you _met_ me?!”

 

It's a good point. Not talking about stuff is definitely more _Derek's_ preferred method of dealing with problems, though he _had_ hoped this would be one of those problems Stiles would choose to ignore until they went away. Not that this one could, really. There would always be a tether now, because Derek has embraced it. Even if Stiles never will, they'll always be connected in some small way.

 

“Why, Derek? Why didn't you tell me that I could be your mate?” Stiles asks, his anger making way for hurt, and Derek feels like an absolute shit.

 

“I... didn't think you'd want...” He's not sure how to phrase it, and Stiles is obviously having a hard time waiting, shoulders tensing, and his hand moving restlessly on Derek's side.

 

“Want what? A bond? A a mystically matched potential mate? _You_?”

 

“All of the above?”

 

“You are such an idiot, I can't even-” Stiles closes his eyes, and takes a frustrated breath through his nose while Derek watches him, feeling small enough to crawl under a rock. “Derek,” Stiles says after a few seconds of tense silence. “What the hell made you think I didn't want any of that?”

 

_The whole loft smelled of Stiles, his scent seeped into everything with him spending so much time there. He called it “hanging out”, but considering how many nights he'd spent on Derek's couch it'd started feeling more like a roommate. Or worse, like... a relationship. And it didn't help that Stiles was packing a bag for his trip to see Delilah the shaman up North, and didn't actually need to go home for anything. He had that much stuff at Derek's place now._

 

“ _Just for a day or two, you won't even miss me,” Stiles said, casting a crooked grin over his shoulder and making Derek's heart gallop. Stiles smelled happy. Comfortable. Content. And it made Derek ache. He wanted to be the cause of that. He'd known for a while now that Stiles could be his mate, and all Derek's instincts were rearing up to reach for the bond. It was getting harder and harder to squash them down but Stiles didn't want it. He'd made that abundantly clear. And Derek was a wolf, not a monster. His instincts did not control him, and he ignored them habitually._

 

_His emotions were another matter, however. Maybe because he'd had everything locked down so tightly for so long he'd forgotten how not to feel everything so intensely all the time. And it felt like every second spent with Stiles was a joyful gift, one that kept giving, every smirk and teasing comment washing over Derek like balm on his scars._

 

_It took him too long to say anything, so Stiles shook his head at him as he zipped up his bag. “Weirdo,” he said fondly, and turned towards the door._

 

“ _Stiles,” Derek called, not ready to let him go yet, wanting him to stay for just another minute._

 

_Turning back, Stiles looked around the loft with a frown. “Did I forget anything?”_

 

_Derek had to stomp down the ridiculous urge to say **me**. “How... how long do you think you'll be gone?”_

 

“ _Two days at most,” Stiles said with a shrug, and grinning when he saw Derek's frown. “Okay, mr. overbearing alpha, look, if it's been more than forty eight hours you can send out a search party, alright?”_

 

“ _Don't think I won't,” Derek warned, and Stiles looked so goddamn_ _ **fond**_ _, it was making terrible, awful things happen in Derek's chest._

 

_As if sensing the emotional turmoil, Stiles reached out a hand and patted Derek on the cheek, his hand warm and steady, and making Derek's eyes fall closed. “I wouldn't expect anything less from my alpha,” Stiles said, voice all warm and private, and just like that Derek met his limit. If ever there was a moment to seize, it had to be now. He and Stiles had never felt closer or more intimate than right now, and despite all of Derek's horrifically bad luck with relationships, he felt shockingly certain that there would never be a better moment. It had to be now._

 

_But words always failed him, always. And Stiles was looking at him all expectantly, and... well. Derek made a choice. And for about a second and a half, everything felt right, wonderful, amazing. But then Stiles' hand was on Derek's chest, pushing him away. And Derek's heart shattered again._

 

Derek can feel his mouth dropping open, bad breath or not, because it doesn't _make sense_. “You... you pushed me away!”

 

“Yeah, duh! Because it was out of nowhere! This isn't the movies, Derek, kissing someone doesn't magically make people have a relationship! Mates or otherwise!”

 

“I wasn't expecting that! I just... I wanted to _show_ you...”

 

Stiles chews his lip for a moment, and then sighs. “Okay, I will concede that anything less than a physical demonstration probably wouldn't have gotten it through my skull that you'd ever even want me, but... you could have asked first.”

 

Derek nods again, stomach swirling with guilt. He should know better. “You're right. I should have.”

 

“And also,” Stiles continues. “I didn't say no. In fact, I seem to recall I said I wasn't closing that door?”

 

“You did.”

 

“I just... wanted to talk it through before jumping into anything. Because to me – _not_ knowing about the whole mate thing – it seemed to come pretty much out of the blue. And I didn't... I didn't wanna be some random fuck for you.”

 

“You'd never be that. I don't... I don't think I'm even capable of anything casual anymore,” Derek admits, gut swirling with the knowledge that Stiles might actually be willing... _determined_ even, to _be_ something for Derek. Something more than casual.

 

Stiles sighs, and his thumb starts stroking gently across Derek's hip. “Yeah, well. I didn't know that. Communication, Derek. It's a thing, and you should practice it more.”

 

Derek nods, and allows himself to just exist for a moment, and enjoy how Stiles' now warm skin feels up against his own. Thankfully they're not pressed together in any really intimate places, but that doesn't make it feel like less at all. Stiles' leg feels nice and solid between Derek's own, feet tangled up, toes slightly cold, despite the warm space under the covers. Their chests are so close that they brush whenever they breathe in at the same time, and it's a strange sort of tease that would be really distracting if Derek wasn't still feeling like a shithead.

 

“I'll try,” he promises. “And... maybe I should start by asking... are you really okay with... this?” he can't quite keep the hope out of his voice, but he still hardly dares believe that Stiles will actually accept him. “You haven't exactly been very positive on the topic of mates in the past.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes with a groan. “No, because it was always a pain in my ass! First my best friend nearly gets himself killed by deciding a _hunter_ is his mate, then the first love of my life decides she's mated to _lizard boy_ and breaks my heart, and _then_ , when I _finally_ get a chance for a taste of that for myself, Malia just bulldozers in on nothing but instinct, doesn't give me a choice in the matter, and doesn't back off until I basically stomp all over her feelings. So you'll excuse me if I haven't had a lot of opportunities to learn how to appreciate the idea!”

 

“...okay, that's fair.”

 

“That said,” Stiles says slowly. “I gotta admit I appreciate the whole desperate rescue mission through a snowstorm. It's super flattering to my ego,” he adds with a grin, and Derek is helpless against grinning back.

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“Yeah. And I did read up on it later, when we weren't, you know, being killed every two minutes, so. I have a better idea of what it is now.”

 

The air between them feels suddenly charged, and Derek's eyes fall half-way shut from the heady scent of excitement and happiness from Stiles. From his _mate_. “Will you accept me, then?” he can't help but ask, and Stiles' eyes crinkle as his smile turns decidedly wicked.

 

“Yes. But not yet! You're gonna woo me first, asshole.”

  
Derek blinks. “The whole rescue in the snowstorm wasn't enough?”

 

“Nuh uh,” Stiles says, moving his arms up to wind around Derek's neck instead, pressing their bodies deliciously closer, and Derek sighs from the feeling of every inch of them touching. “I mean, it was good, top notch. But I was in a magical coma for most of it, and I kinda still need a little time to get used to the whole idea of having a mate. So. You're gonna take me out on dates. You're gonna buy me presents and come to Sunday dinner with my dad for a good shovel talk at some point, and so help me, you are gonna hold my hand in public.”

 

“I was actually hoping to do all those things anyway-”

 

“Shush, I'm blackmailing you.”

 

“Alright,” Derek says. “Blackmail away.” Frankly, he'd be fine with whatever Stiles demands. He said _yes_. Or as good as. It's good enough for Derek's instincts, anyway, and he's basking in the glow of it all while Stiles outlines all the ways Derek is gonna treat him right.

 

“... are you listening to me?”

 

“Hmmm-no,” Derek admits, dragging his nose up Stiles' cheek, because he's _allowed_ now.

 

“Rude,” Stiles says, but it comes out a little weakly, and his arms tighten around Derek's neck.

 

“I don't have to. I'll do whatever you want me to.”

 

Stiles goes still and fixes Derek with a downright wicked stare. “ _Really?_ ”

 

“Yes,” Derek says without hesitation. “You're my mate.”

 

“ _Mate-to-be_ , Derek. Intended! There's a difference!”

 

“Right.”

 

“I'm serious!”

 

“So am I.”

 

Stiles stares at him for another few seconds and then huffs. “You are such an asshole, why do I like you so much.”

 

“Because I'm your-”

 

“Finish that sentence, and I'm rejecting the bond.”

 

There's a blip in his heart, so Derek knows he's lying, but the threat is severe enough that his mouth snaps shut, and Stiles glares at him a little more before pushing at him. “Good. Now get out there and find my clothes. I need to take a leak, and I am not leaving these blankets without my skin covered. It's sunlight out, how can it be so cold?” he rants, as Derek leaves the blankets with a shiver, feeling Stiles' eyes on his naked body.

 

Once Derek has delivered Stiles' clothes so he can begin the process of squirming into them under the blankets, Stiles suddenly sits up and looks around. “Where are _your_ clothes?”

 

Only then does the problematic situation hit home for Derek, and he slaps a palm to his face. “They're... probably somewhere down the mountain. Shredded.”

 

Stiles stares. “Did you literally _Hulk out of your clothes_?”

 

“...yes.”

 

“... as much potential for ridicule that gives me for later, right now it's kind of a problem.”

 

Derek agrees, and tries to think. He can probably handle the cold, especially in beta shift, but even if they make it back to the rental car and get it going, he doesn't have anything else to wear in the car, and it's gonna be a long and uncomfortable trip either way.

 

“The hunters,” he says finally. “I'll trek back down to their corpses, and see if I can steal something off them.”

 

“Gross,” Stiles says, flipping the blankets aside finally, his pants still undone, which, weirdly, makes Derek feel a little hot in the face. More so than seeing him naked did, but, then again, things had been significantly more dire at the time. “At least check if they have a duffel or something before you start stripping corpses.”

 

It's a good point, and while Stiles bundles up as much as possible to go do his business outside, Derek tries to prepare himself for a very cold run through the snow.

 

“This is gonna suck,” he says, and Stiles bursts out laughing, and joins Derek where he's hesitating with his hand on the doorknob.

 

“Yeah. But worth, it, right?”

 

Their eyes meet, and it's almost like it was back at the loft. The cold air between them heavy with meaning and familiarity, underscored now by deeper understanding and acceptance. They still have more to talk about, but it's there already. The first hints of the bond, from both sides now, glowing tendrils of connection, swirling and merging and slowly strengthening.

 

“Yeah,” Derek says, and is rewarded by Stiles leaning in to place a tiny kiss on his cheek.

 

“That's all you get until you've brushed your teeth like a gajillion times, ew.”

 

All Derek can do is laugh, because it's enough. It's more than enough, and he flings open the door, leaping into the snow with a huge, fanged grin, uncaring of how the cold is making his balls shrivel.

 

The sight of a naked werewolf galloping on all fours is apparently enough to make Stiles lose it too, and the sound of his laughter follows Derek down the mountain.

 

“ _Do you think the universe is square?” Stiles mumbled, half asleep against Derek's side, just as a new episode of The Office started up. “I mean, string theory, right. It could be.”_

 

_Derek didn't have the faintest idea what Stiles was talking about, that wasn't exactly news. What **was** news, however, was Stiles. In the loft. All the time. And also new was the fact that Derek didn't mind._

 

“ _I dunno, Stiles. Maybe you should find out.”_

 

“ _Don't think I won't,” Stiles grumbled, worming in closer until Derek lifted his arm and put it around Stiles' shoulders. “I just might. I'd do it, too.”_

 

“ _I'm sure you would,” Derek agreed fondly, and that fondness forced him to stop for a minute to just... feel. Because there were definitely **feelings** there. Something... deep. Not exactly new, but subtle enough to have gone unnoticed for quite a while. _

 

_Contentment. Comfort. **Happiness**. Derek's heart made a few panicked leaps, because when the hell did **that** happen?_

 

_Stiles began to snore quietly against Derek's side, and he looked down at the slack face and slightly open mouth of... his mate._

 

_Fuck._

 

End.

 


End file.
